Everything was fine so far. People were scared and uncertain, but they were still civil. Vladimir Lenin said that every society is three meals away from chaos, and while it may not be perfectly true, it’s true enough. Miss enough meals, watch your kids go hungry, and even the most civil man will turn into a thieving, murdering, rat-bastard savage.

That’s why I’m in such a hurry to get my daughter and bring her back to safety. I’m a 50 year old man and I have no desire to fight mobs and gangs over scavenged loot. The last place you want to be when society breaks down is in a city, unless you’re a bad ass.

I’m not a bad ass.

I don’t know how to fight. The last real fight I got into was in grade school. I don’t have a muscular physique. I’m old, carrying around an extra 50 lbs I don’t need, and to put it bluntly, I’m something of a sneaky coward. I’d rather shoot you in the back than face you in the street at high noon.

East 1st street crossed old Columbia road after a quarter mile. I stopped to knot a strip of cloth onto the street sign at the corner. “If they come this way, they’ll know I didn’t encounter any trouble.” I explained to Mrs. Caldwell.

Old Columbia road was a few miles longer than highway 21, dating back to the 1800s when wagons would travel from Plainview to Columbia along the Pearl river. It was filled with twists and turns, but it had the advantage of being shaded by lots of oaks and pines at one time. Now it was a patchwork of fire scorched trees and untouched woodland. Gravel driveways peeled off the pitted asphalt road and snaked back into the woods every few dozen yards or so. You wouldn’t expect a so-called rural area to be densely populated, but there were quite a few people living in the parish. They just had different values — privacy and a couple of acres to call home, mostly.

The bitter tang of smoke filled the air. Most of the houses and trailers had caught fire and burned, some still leaking wisps of grey smoke into the sky. We passed by many that were nothing more than fire ravaged husks, blackened timbers reaching into the sky like dead fingers. Buzzards fought noisily over something near one burned out trailer. I wondered where all the people were, and then decided maybe I shouldn’t wonder too hard.

Behind me, I could hear Mrs. Caldwell muttering prayers to an uncaring god.

As we ambled along on the horses, I surreptitiously practiced with my new psychic powers. The range on my psychic vision and tentacles was only about 10 yards, but I could push out a thin field, expand my aura maybe 30 yards. I could sense the dark swirling blue emotions of Mrs. Caldwell. Sad, hurt, scared. Squirrels in the trees were bright squeaks of animalistic emotion. Hungry, playful, horny. Rabbits were the same, but more skittish. Something was curled up in a burrow sleeping, emitting a slow, rhythmic glow. Maybe an armadillo?

I closed my eyes and expanded my mind into the aether, feeling the millions of buzzing, creeping insects hidden from sight, the playful and territorial squirrels, the energetic green of the trees as they greedily competed for sunlight. The world was alive, a beautiful, aggressive, living thing. I could sense the worms in the ditches next to the road, the birds overhead. It was like extra-sensory hearing, a passive empathic echolocation, a crowded football stadium that could overwhelm the senses if you didn’t filter it out.

And I could sense something black and corrupted up ahead. Something twisted and angry and hurt.

A large brown dog came rushing out of the brush, snarling and slathering. Sparky spooked and reared as the dog snapped at his fetlocks, tossing me from the saddle. I lashed out and caught myself with a tentacle, falling awkwardly to the ground. Miguel skittered sideways causing Mrs. Caldwell to squeal, holding onto the pommel for dear life as the gelding danced around. Bucking madly, Sparky bolted down the road with the dog snapping at his legs.

Pulling my glock from its holster, I thumbed the safety and took aim, snaking out an auric tentacle from my shoulder to grab at the dog. Its aura felt greasy, like trying to grab used motor oil. I managed to wrap a tentacle around the leg of the animal and yank it to a halt, giving me a clear shot.

The gun clicked and sputtered, blowing out grey smoke. The bullet plinked on the asphalt at my feet.

I ejected the dud shell and fired another with the same result. Click and smoke. The dog lost interest in pursuing Sparky and turned his attention to me. I pushed against the beast with my tentacles but it kept sliding off the slippery aura, forcing me to concentrate and push with both of my auric hands until it stumbled and went sliding towards the edge of the road.

Holstering the 9mm, I yanked out ol’ trusty and squeezed the trigger of the revolver. Click and smoke.

I could hear Miguel somewhere behind me, his steel shoes tap dancing on the asphalt while Mrs. Caldwell fought to keep him under control.

Snarling, the dog scrambled to his feet and leapt at me, closing the distance between us in two bounds. Up close I could see there was something wrong with the animal, large black quills grew from its back giving it the appearance of a rottweiler crossed with a porcupine. Its mouth was a bloody horror where oversized teeth had ripped its jowls to shreds.

I threw up my left arm and hardened the aura around it just as those fangs latched on. I could feel tremendous pressure against my arm, but the aura held as the heavy beast bore me to the ground. Yanking out the bowie knife, I stabbed it through the ribs once, twice, in quick succession before sharp claws ripped through my aura and sliced through my shirt.

In the distance, I could hear someone cursing like a sailor and realised that it was Mrs Caldwell attempting to rein in Miguel.

The animal let go of my arm and lunged for my face. I shoved my fist as far in his mouth as it would go and it chomped down, puncturing the aura. I expanded the aura around my hand, pushing hard and fast with everything I had, ramming it down the dog’s throat. Choking on my etherial arm, it tried to back away, giving me an opportunity to slam the knife into his throat and yank, opening it up in an arterial spray. Staggering drunkenly to the side of the road, it collapsed, twitching as it bled out.

Jumping to my feet, I backed away from the horror and watched until it stopped moving then dropped to my knees on the hard asphalt, exhausted and out of breath.

“Emmet, you alright?”

Hacking up a gob of dark phlegm, I pulled down my mask and spat. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

The Rottupine? Porcuweiler?[1] Whatever, the mutant fucker had ripped through my shirt and left four bloody gouges across my chest.

Ever had your man-nipple clawed? It hurts like absolute fuck.

I could see my aura swirling and rippling over the bloody furrows in golden waves, trying to seep into them. Concentrating, I imagined it soaking into the wounds, healing them. As I focused, intuitively reaching out to the spark inside me, tiny green motes appeared over the gashes and were quickly absorbed, causing the wounds to itch fiercely as they closed before my eyes, leaving behind tender pink flesh. Even the blood was absorbed back into my skin.

If I wasn’t so damn tired, I’d dance a jig.

“Emmet, what is that thing? Some kind of dog?”

I shrugged, watching black motes boil around the carcass. “I guess. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“I saw it bite you. You sure you’re not hurt?”

“Just bruised a bit,” I answered, focusing on healing my left arm. “Stay there and let me go look at it.”

Green sparks popped into existence around my my arm and the pain eased up after a moment. It was still a bit sore, but it no longer felt like a rottweiler used it as a chew toy. I poked at the corpse with my right ghost-arm. When it didn’t respond, I sidled up and examined it closer. The mouth was a ruin, with jagged teeth pointing in every direction, but the long tongue was what really caught my eye. It appeared to have a stinger in the tip that leaked a thin milky fluid. A thick mass of quills ran along the spine of the animal and lay splayed out on the asphalt like a bad mohawk. In my auric vision, I could see thousands of black motes [2] buzzing over the corpse like bloated flies.

When I reached out with my hand the motes swarmed around my aura like angry hornets. I could feel them trying to pierce the golden field that surrounded me, battering against it until they stuck like flies in honey and transformed into silvery droplets that were absorbed. Curious and repulsed at the same time, I pushed a tentacle of my aura into the mutant beast. Just like with the rabbit, I could sense the blood, bones and organs of the creature as I sucked up the leaking motes. I could feel the poison gland in the throat under the tongue, strange muscles around the quills, and a dark oily presence swirling around the heart.

I pulled out the motes slowly, trying not to overwhelm my natural defences with too many of the bloated black sparks. Part of me wanted to leave the corpse and walk away, but the taste was… different. I don’t remember much about Robert and the horse, but the rabbit was like a cool glass of water. Light and refreshing. This thing was like whiskey. Smokey and harsh and slightly intoxicating. It threatened to choke me unless I sipped slowly. The corpse deflated under my feeding and was reduced to dust, leaving behind a jagged black stone the size of my thumbnail.

It glistened like a piece of obsidian, slick and sharp in the morning light. I poked it carefully with a tentacle and it felt the same as the red one the rabbit left behind. Some sort of energy was stored in there but I couldn’t quite access it. I pocketed it along with the other one.

Rising to my feet I staggered a bit, feeling slightly drunk from my recent feed. Maybe I really was some sort of vampire. I hadn’t tried to feed from anything living, but the energy that bled from a corpse was delicious. I could drink another Rottupine, hell, I could drink another ten! It was swirling through me like an alcoholic energy drink, all hot and sweet and jittery.

“Emmet?”

“I’m fine. Just a bit winded.” I said after a moment. Retrieving my guns, I fired off a few more of the rounds and got nothing but smoke for my trouble. Out of everything that had happened so far, this disturbed me the most. The odds of 19 bad bullets from two batches made by two different companies were astronomical.

Astronomical.

The flickering red dot of Methuselah was visible through the trees, a bloody red splotch in sky filled with dancing ribbons of colourful aurora. I stared at it for a moment and pushed speculative thoughts to the back of my mind. Let the subconscious work on them for awhile, I had other matters to attend. I walked back to where Miguel stood patiently with his elderly rider.

“Are you alright Mrs. Caldwell?”

“I’m fine, Emmet.” She said, then placed a hand over her mouth in concern. “Your shirt is ripped. I see blood - are you sure you’re okay?”

I pulled back the ruined shirt to reveal my pale, hairless chest. “I’m fine, ma’am. I got lucky and it just ruined my shirt.”

“I saw it turn into dust…”

“I saw that too. I don’t know what happened,” I lied. I swear I’m not a pathological liar. I just lie when it suits my needs. “Let’s go find Sparky.”

I grabbed up Miguel’s reins and started jogging down the road. Jittery energy filled me and I cycled it through my lungs and muscles, feeling giddy as it coursed through my veins. The jog turned into a run and Miguel broke from a trot into a canter, then into a gallop as I ran. I flung psychic threads ahead of me, searching for Sparky and playfully poking at squirrels and birds. I feel good, I can run forever, I can run all the way to Springfield and absolutely nothing can stop me. I’m going to…

“EMMETT! STOP!”

I snapped back to reality.

I was running far faster than I had ever run in my life. Miguel was nearly at a full gallop and Mrs. Caldwell was hanging on for dear life. I slowed and came to a stop, the golden energy inside me cycling and swirling through my muscles and lungs, restless and seeking action.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, feeling more amused than sorry. “I’m just in a hurry to find Sparky. I know he’s not far ahead.”

“Emmet, these old bones can’t take such a beating,” she scolded me, her face pale behind her peach facemark. “I’m going to be sore for a week!”

“I’m really sorry,” I apologised again, meaning it this time. “I’ll try to be more mindful.”

We found Sparky another mile up ahead, calmly grazing by the roadside. The first thing I did was test the shotgun and got the same result as with the pistols, nothing but smoke and a clatter of steel pellets rattling in the barrel. A random sampling of the ammo I brought with me produced the same result. There was no chance it was a bad batch. There was something wrong with the gunpowder itself.

After changing my bloody shirt, I dug into the camping gear and selected Mr. Hatchet as my new saddle companion.

Footnotes

1. Porcuweiler (Canis lupus porcuweiler). The first named monster. Ascended Emmett Carter named the Rottweiler abomination (monster/beast) after this attack. Porcuweilers are quite common in low mana areas, but pose no real hazard when not in travelling in packs.

2. The first documented instance of Black mana. This form of mana collects in low-lying areas and can infect or corrupt anything exposed, causing aggressive, erratic behaviour. It is a powerful source of magical energy once the taint has been cleansed, producing silver mana.

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